by Kay Murky
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His awareness of his surroundings returned more slowly this time, without the accompanying dreams and memories haunting him. Instead, it was as if he drifted awake after a long, peaceful sleep. This time he was able to slap up his shields when the pain and emotions of others assaulted his consciousness. For a few moments he just lay there, aware of the heat, the pain in his side, and the various aches and pains in the rest of his body. But he felt clean, and strangely rested. Marteen moved his shoulders slightly, the absence of the chafing shoulder armour finally alerting him to the fact that he was naked, with some kind of thin cloth covering him from the waist down.
Without opening his eyes, his fingers moved to his side where the pain was the worst, only to encounter a thin bandage wrapped around his middle. Slowly he checked himself with his hands, finding a few more bandages on his chest and his arms. From the feel of it, there were a couple around his legs as well. So. Wherever he was, someone had taken care of him. He could not imagine that it was either the Essians, or the Imperial soldiers. That little battle back there had definitely not gone their way.
Then if it was the enemy who had taken him off that hill, why was he being cared for, and not tied up? Not in shackles? What kind of people were these Ranmorians, to treat an enemy like this?
Slowly Marteen opened his eyes, only to quickly close them again. Was he in the next world then? Carefully he opened them again, but he was still surrounded by the intense golden glow that had surprised him the first time. Eventually his eyes adjusted, and he realised that the glow was caused by the noon sun shining through a thick golden yellow membrane. A membrane attached to bony spars that could only be part of a wing. Moving his head slightly to the right, he could see the side of his shelter. Soft looking yellow skin stretched over what were obviously ribs.
This was no tent he was in. He was actually lying under the shelter of a spread dragon wing!
It took him a while to accept that. Then the exterior noises started making an impression on him. Marteen had been in too many battles not to know the sound of one, even though it was faint. Closer by were voices, speaking in languages he did not know. Every now and then, though, a phrase was spoken in Ranmorian Trade, which he could understand. Through this was the sound of groaning and whimpering usually associated with the wounded.
So he was among the healers of the enemy. But how did he get here? Should he move? What would happen? Curiosity got the better of him and he closed his eyes while he slowly lowered his shield. Just a bit.
Just a bit was enough to disorientate him completely. Unexpectedly he found himself looking out of someone else’s eyes. Eyes that were able to zoom in on an injury, see it in minute detail, then switch to healer-mage sight and recognise the immediate requirements of the wounded. Even though he could not understand the words, the thought processes of the mind he found himself in took place partially in words, partially in emotions, but mostly in images. So Marteen was able to follow a lot of what this being thought.
Quietly he lay, too surprised to move, and watched as the host mind dealt with injury after injury, giving sharp and distinct orders. Those in Trade he understood completely, the others he had a vague idea of what the mind was ordering the people to do.
Some of the wounded were dragons, and his interest became more intense as he shared the view of the alien bone structure and innards through the strange eyes. Complex systems of muscles and membranes, hollow bones and wire-strong sinews. How beautifully, how intricately were these beasts made!
Then suddenly the realisation hit him. He was indeed looking through the eyes of a dragon! It was a dragon who was making these life or death decisions not only about draconic lives, but human lives as well! This was no beast, but a highly intelligent being… a being with knowledge, as well as compassion and empathy for those brought before him. That he was also a gifted mage and healer…
But what Marteen could not fathom, was why he was in the dragon’s mind. He opened his own eyes, but shut them quickly again as for that moment he had double vision. One set of eyes seeing the underside of the dragon’s wings, the other pair seeing through the dragon’s eyes.
Quietly he lay there, thinking hard. Whatever the situation, this was an opportunity to get to know and study his surroundings without him having to move. And to get to know this dragon who had Marteen literally under his wing. What was he to the dragon? A captive or a patient? Hopefully not a meal… but then, the bandages would not be there, or would they? The being in whose mind he was lurking was definitely cultured and intelligent, but that did not say anything regarding its eating habits.
The legends about the dragons among his people back home in Cistorri seemed to say otherwise. That the Winged Wise Ones came many years ago, and taught the Elders of Cistorri how to use The Sight, and about healing and magic. There was nothing in the legends of any of his ancestors being devoured by these visitors.
As the afternoon wore on the sounds of the battle were no longer audible, and the stream of injured grew. They were now joined by the walking wounded as the warriors and soldiers of the various nations returned, tired but triumphant. The walking wounded apparently saw to themselves or were seen to by their shield mates, as only the very serious cases were brought to the dragon for inspection.
Marteen had decided that the dragon must be male, because there was nothing feminine in the mind. His previous contact with the grey dragon had left him with no doubt as to her femininity, and this mind was a strong contrast to hers.
He was also getting used to the strange double vision and lay with his eyes now open, studying the underside of the yellow wing and the soft skin on his right. He was lying with his feet towards the dragon’s head, and what he had previously thought was a pillow, seemed to be the front portion of a blanket covered hind claw. The dragon paused in what he was doing to take a drink of water from a very large jug that stood next to him, the front hand-claw carefully lifting the earthen ware utensil to his mouth.
Marteen’s dry tongue tried to moisten his cracked lips and he realised that he was extremely thirsty, and very hungry indeed.
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